Chapter Thirty-Eight

 

The chaotic and scarred section of the corridor stretched for half a million kilometers, airless and barren. Plans for a second sortie to the floor were abandoned; without an atmosphere, ascent and descent would use an exorbitant amount of fuel. If the barren segment continued past their million kilometer turnaround point, they would abandon the mission and reverse course, Lanier decided.

"Do you think all of it's like this?" Farley asked, sitting next to him. "From here on?"

Lanier shook his head. "They took Patricia somewhere."

"Have you thought about the wells? Perhaps they left the corridor, and we can't follow."

"I've thought of that—and I have a hunch they didn't use a well."

"Another wall!" Heineman announced.

They gathered in the cockpit, Carrolson sitting in the copilot's seat and Farley and Lanier jammed into the hatchway. Lanier was all too aware of the press of Farley's body.

The tuberider's passage through the corridor was dizzying; it reminded Lanier of running through a drain pipe. The corridor fled past on all sides, purple and brown and black with its scars, the revealed corridor surface dirty bronze. The Forward-Looking Radar returned a steady beep at half-second intervals.

"Seats please," Heineman said. "We're going to slow this sucker down. Reverse seats this time; I want to keep our FLR facing forward, and there'll be about two-tenths of a g. . . .”

Carrolson strapped herself into the copilot's seat with a pixie grin at Lanier. "Backseat, boss," she said. "I was here first."

Lanier and Farley crawled past the equipment boxes and sat next to each other. Lanier took a deep breath and closed his eyes; the urge was almost unbearable.

"Something wrong?" Farley asked.

"Not at all." He touched her hand reassuringly with his own and drew it back.

"You feeling all right?"

He smiled unconvincingly and nodded."

“Something's wrong, Garry. I've been around you long enough—"

"We'll be there in an hour or so," Heineman announced from the cockpit.

"So what is it?" Farley pursued.

He took a deep breath and his face reddened. "I can't help it, Karen. It's crazy. I've been. . . horny for the last twenty hours. It isn't going away."

She regarded him without expression, and then her eyes widened the merest fraction.

"You asked, dammit," he said.

"Just in general?"

"No."

"Someone in particular."

"Yes," he said.

"Who. . . or is that asking too much?"

He raised a finger and pointed it at her, shaking with stifled laughter. His face was red as hamburger now and he sounded like he was choking.

"That's funny?"

"No-oo-o," he said, finally controlling his laughter. "It's crazy."

“You've never been interested in me before?"

"No—I mean, yes, you're attractive, obviously, but—"

"Then shut up." The deceleration had already started. She unbuckled her belt and fell slowly toward the cockpit, easing herself along with the handgrips on the side of the seats and storage racks overhead.

"Wait," Lanier said, reaching for her and missing. He looked back over the neck rest. "Karen!"

Farley hung in the cockpit hatchway. "Wake us when we're at the wall," she said pointedly, sliding the partition shut with a decisive snick of the bolt. She pulled herself back along the aisle and braced one knee against his seat and the seat opposite.

"I'm sorry—" Lanier began.

"Not at all," Farley said. She tugged at her jumpsuit zipper and pulled it down, revealing a T-shirt with the Chinese character

 

 

on the front, signifying "whale," the Chinese name for the Stone. She shimmied it off quickly and removed white cotton panties.

Lanier watched in shock.

"You should have said something sooner," she admonished. "Anything that keeps you from thinking straight is a detriment to our mission." She pulled the T-shirt over her head and stuffed all the clothes in a rear seat pouch.

He removed his jumpsuit, glancing nervously at the cockpit partition. She lay on the rear of the two opposite seats; the tuberider's deceleration provided an effective if skewed sense of direction. "You never did put yourself on the social roster," Farley said, taking his hand and pulling him toward her. "Not because you were shy, surely."

Lanier touched her breast, his heart hammering. He gently rubbed the knuckles and backs of his fingers along the line between her hips and stomach. "I've never needed anyone more in my life," he said.

 

Carrolson ascended the ladder up the middle of the aisle. Farley and Lanier had dressed and seated themselves opposite each other. "Ten minutes and we'll be there," Carrolson said, deadpan. She looked at Farley and then turned her head toward Lanier, her eyes lingering for a moment on Farley's face. "It seems like the same sort of wall as the last one, but this one rises even higher above the level of the atmosphere with a narrower clearance—no more than a hundred meters—around the singularity. We should run the same tests we did before, though."

"Agreed," Farley said.

"Garry—" Carrolson began, regarding him intently.

"What?"

"Never mind." She descended the ladder and returned to the cockpit.

"Jesus, I'm embarrassed," Lanier muttered.

"Why, because you're human?" Farley asked.

"I have responsibilities," he said.

"There isn't a person on the Stone who doesn't," she said. "And there was an awful lot of hamky-pamky going on while I was there."

Despite himself, he chuckled. "That's 'hanky-panky.'"

"Whatever. Don't tell me you didn't notice?"

He shook his head. "No, I honestly didn't. The boss is the last to know."

"Only if the boss has his eyes shut. I doubt Hoffman is letting such things escape her."

"All right, so I'm a. . . I don't know. I'm not a prude, but I'm maybe a bit innocent."

"Not innocent at all," Farley said, reaching across to touch his arm. "And don't worry. You're still the boss."